The Watering Hole was at the end of town tourists seldom frequented. Here were the docks and dockland, small ships, coasters, and the lighters that brought cargo in from the larger ships moored in the roads. A US Coast Guard cutter was tied up at the central dock, its diagonal orange stripe vivid against the grey hull. There was a popgun on the foredeck, decently covered in a tarpaulin, and various other armaments no doubt in the armory below. The men (and nowadays a few women) to wield them against the forces of evil (equals drug runners) would be out investigating the tropical delights of the island, except for the glum looking guard sipping coffee at the top of the gangplank. I gave him a cheery, "What ho, Captain Bligh!" and headed for sustenance.
I had already had my snapper at an excellent little joint from the balcony of which one could mock fat tourists in horrible shirts. It was time for some entertainment. I had an hour to spare before my expected arrival at the Lobster Pot.
I turned into the door of the Watering Hole and paused a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Another pair of eyes already inside needed no such adjustment.
"Harr' Neptoon, yo' bastar'! Yo' owe me money!"
A mulatto the size of a cruise ship vaulted surprisingly nimbly over the bar. He leaned back to a barman's recess and extracted a cutlass. 'Cutlass' is the West Indian name for a machete, but believe me in this man's hand it was a cutlass from the old days. He advanced on me, kicking chairs and customers out of his way.
"Bastar'! Twen'y t'ree dollar! Yo' no pay for yo' roun' las' time! Yo' bastar'! I chop you!"
He flung two longshoremen aside and towered over me, the cutlass raised high while one hand gripped my shirtfront. Spittle dribbled down his chin. The whites of his wide eyes matched the white of his bared teeth. I felt my feet leave the ground.
"Toss you for it. Double or nothing."
There was silence for a long, long moment. I felt a shirt button give up the struggle.
"All righ'. Me coin – I reme'er yo' tricks."
The huge barman put me down and pulled an East Caribbean dollar from his pocket. The octagonal coin flew toward the ceiling from his muscular fingers.
"Heads!" I cried.
The coin reached its zenith and fell back to the floor. I reached to pluck it out of the air and felt cold steel at my throat.
"Just trying to be helpful," I muttered carefully.
The dollar landed, bounced a couple of times, and settled.
"Heads it is!" I gloated. "Let me down, you great baboon."
The great baboon dropped me and I scooped the coin from the floor before he had a chance to check my reading of the face.
"Good to see you, Eldine my friend."
Eldine looked at me quizzically for a moment, then slapped my back and held out a huge paw.
"We got good show! For Yanquis from Coas' Gaur'! Stay! – an' pay yo' bill!"
I looked around the gloom and saw a dozen or so US Coast Guards at rickety tables, imperfectly disguised in holiday attire. They looked at me with suspicion, which I ignored. Water off a duck's back, seen it too often. The rest of the clientele were some businessmen and a couple of coaster skippers and engineers. This was an up-market joint.
I looked more closely at one of the Coast Guard tables and saw that one drinker was a Latino-looking woman, wearing a muscle shirt and impressive muscle definition to complement it.
Eldine was back behind the bar with a glass ready for me by the time I had wended my way and taken in the scenery. He had a matching glass of colorless liquid. Not my favorite tipple, but I was not about to be offered a choice. I knew this stuff. Most bottles have a message on the label warning."80% proof" or "75% alcohol by volume."
This St. Vincent bottle just said, "Very Strong Rum." It wasn't kidding.
There was only one way to deal with it.
"Down the hatch!"
I threw it back and managed to keep it down. I had aimed to miss lips, tongue, taste buds, throat and anything else containing nerve cells, but a few drops escaped on the way to my stomach and cauterized whatever they landed on.
I maintained an admirable sangfroid. The top of my head came off, my stomach retired to another dimension, I smelled burning flesh, but I maintained an admirable sangfroid. I leaned on the bar to help it stay admirable. Eldine refilled our glasses without exhibiting any ill effects from his own tot. I was not surprised. I happened to know he was weaned on the stuff.
"Slan' ee var'!" offered Eldine as a toast with the next glass. I was partly anesthetized already and felt only excruciating pain this time. I looked at my slightly unfocused watch. Forty-five minutes to go until rendezvous at the Lobster Pot. Time enough to be polite with another glass or two and still hit ETA. I settled on a barstool and eyed the next glass – or it could have been glasses. They breed, you know.
"Got good show! Great girls! Enjoy, yo bastar'!"
A few minutes preview of the entertainment could do no harm. It would be nothing but politeness to catch the early moments. I would still meet my lovely wife in plenty of time.
Eldine roared to the bar.
"Lady an' gennulmen! Da show!"
He switched on an earth shattering boom box and flicked various light switches. Everything in the joint vibrated with a reggae beat as a small stage was illuminated by random colored spotlights. I felt my contact with reality start to fray at the edges.
A figure appeared on the stage. Tall, jet-black, arrogant, breasts thrusting against a full length black peignoir, one athletic thigh visible as the figure posed and waited for undivided attention. It didn't take long for her to get it.
Eldine walked to the stage and looked down at the unmoving woman. With a sudden movement he gripped her gown and ripped it from her body. Naked, she did not move. She sneered back at Eldine contemptuously. He picked up a bucket from behind the tatty curtain.
Eldine raised the bucket over the girl's head and tipped a golden syrup over her. The smell of Barbudan honey filled the room. Honey ran down her body, flowing over her head and her breasts and her belly and her buttocks, flowed between her legs and down her thighs. She raised one breast to her lips and slowly licked then sucked her nipple. The room vibrated with the visceral music.
I reached for the rum bottle.
"…And that was when I discovered pre-nuptial agreements, Jay, sweetie. I really must give you my attorney's number. It seems you're in dire need of some sensible advice from a nice strong father figure…"
The Black Widow prattled on as we wandered down a shady side street, seeking refuge from the powerful heat of the midday sun.
"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Goldfinkel. I assure you that my heart has always belonged to Daddy. Where are we, incidentally? This is beginning to look a little unsalubrious."
"Oh! Oh! You are a naughty girl! I've been quite distracted by your silly feminist notions and now we've gone and got ourselves lost."
Feminist notions indeed! If she only knew just how deeply the concept of a nice strong father figure resonated in my psyche (not to mention my spanking fetish). I rummaged in my basket for a street-map but realized that I must have left it behind on the ship. Oh well. It simply added a new angle to sightseeing. The rude, rough underbelly of a Caribbean isle. I thought of big black men with cocks like Arab stallions and wondered whether there was somewhere we could go to watch a show. After all, I had purchased my rock and there was still a little time before we had to meet Harry for afternoon tea. My nipples rubbed pleasurably against the flimsy cotton of my summer dress. I wasn't wearing any underwear, for twin reasons of heat and horn, and I thought of a dark skinned native unbuttoning my frock and exposing my tender pale flesh to the scorching rays of the midday sun.
"Mmmm…"
"Taxi! Come along, Jay. We'll take this cab to The Lobster Pot."
A rather rickety looking taxi shuddered to a halt at the Black Widow's frantic wave. I remembered Harry's tales of white-knuckle cab rides with deaf, blind and merely psychotic drivers, and stuck out my chin in determination. I don't let just anyone boss me around. Besides, I'd made up my mind to score before tea. Male or female, the gender didn't matter, but they had to be big and black. Fortunately, I seemed to be in the right place for both. Mrs. Goldfinkel's plump pink-clad bottom disappeared into the back seat of the cab and I blew her a kiss.
"Don't worry, Gigi. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I just want to see the other side of this tropical paradise. Do my own little rough guide."
"Harry will be very cross!"
I doubt that very much, Mrs. G.
The taxi coughed twice and rattled off in a dense cloud of blue smoke. I hoped the Black Widow would survive the ride. It really did seem safer to walk. One hour to catch me something dark and tasty. Suddenly desperately horny, I strode off down the street, doing my best to look as if I knew exactly where I was heading. The docks, apparently, going by the general ambiance and a couple of cranes against the skyline.
"Hi there, honey!"
A couple of prostitutes lounged on the peeling front steps of a once brightly painted but now shabby house. One of them had a gold front tooth. Their skin shone dully in the dazzling sunshine. I smiled and waved gaily in response. Once upon a time, I was a call girl known as Fleur Delice, specializing in making old men happy. I admired the girls' large breasts, clearly defined through their tight cropped tops. I didn't want to have to pay so I passed on, blowing them a little kiss.
Tattoo parlors, cheap cafes, fish filleting and diesel sales. I began to be aware of eyes following my progress. There were sailors everywhere. Ooh, I say! It looked like my ship had come in. He was big and he was black and he wore a crisp white uniform. I gazed up, up, up at his smiling face.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Would you happen to be able to direct me to an establishment called The Watering Hole? I'm new to this town and my friends have gone on ahead."
"Why, certainly, young man. In fact, I was just going there myself. The rum punch is quite outstanding."
I bluffed like mad, quickly slipping one arm through the sailor's and instinctively setting off in the general direction of a faint but throbbing beat. My escort gave me a rather perturbed look but I pressed on regardless. The poor boy was probably shy. Maybe it was his first time. I scanned his features for signs of a date stamp. Twenty, perhaps? Ooh, a toy boy. I love older men but the odd piece of fresh young flesh makes an interesting change. They have nothing to say but their hormones are rampant.
"What's your name, dear? I'm Jay."
The young man cleared his throat. He really was nervous.
"Um, Leroy, ma'am. Leroy Biggin."
I couldn't help myself. This was too much!
"Biggin, did you say? Why, Mr. Biggin, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. You can call me Miss Bazookas."
The chap didn't skip a beat, the humor lost on him.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mizz Bazookas. Um, erm, if you don't mind my asking such a delicate question, Mizz Bazookas. Um, erm, how much will I need to pay you for your services?"
Oh dear. It would appear I had found a big black Biggin with a wallet full of greenbacks. I smiled and patted his arm.
"That's all right, big boy, I'm on special today. Just buy me a drink and satisfy my curiosity."
The booming reggae music emanated from The Watering Hole, a sleazy looking establishment which was obviously more than just a bar. Various posters displayed on the frontage showed dark skinned girls in assorted stages of undress. A strip joint. Perfect, only perfect. Maybe Big Boy would buy me a lap dance. We walked in, my rather courteous escort selecting a table in a darkish corner near the bar. The place was packed and fiendishly hot, not unlike the black hole of Calcutta. I took off my hat and unbuttoned my dress another notch, making Biggin gulp. I wondered if I had a virgin on my hands. Surely not. Scores of white uniformed sailors of all ages, sizes and shades were standing around, drinking bottled beer and staring at the dancer on the stage. I raised my gaze above the smoky throng and focused on the naked girl.
"Good heavens! What's she covered in?"
Biggin extricated a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket. A short-sighted virgin Biggin. He polished them carefully, placed them on his nose and squinted at the stripper.
"That would appear to be honey, Mizz Bazookas."
"Ooh, I say…"
The girl was tall, very dark skinned and completely naked. Her ebony skin was thickly coated with the sticky golden mess and she writhed upon a plastic covered couch, ecstatically massaging her heavy breasts. Her long, lean legs were parted wide, exposing her pussy to the cheering throng. Then I realized that there was a man's head between her legs. His face dipped down into her cunt and she grasped her ankles with purple-taloned hands and spread her thighs wide for the sailor's hungry mouth.
"I like it."
My own naked pussy had begun to throb and, pushing my skirt up, I placed Biggin's dark hand on my ivory thigh. A topless girl with a mass of braided hair thrust a plastic ice cream tub under our noses. She bore a remarkable resemblance to the girl on stage or maybe the heat of the room had simply gone to my head. The tub was filled with money.
"All yo' can eat! Five bucks!"
I thought of sucking honey from a hot black cherry. Then again, it seemed I might have another cherry at hand to pop. I smiled coyly at Big Boy and he placed a greenback in the tub. Seductively, I stroked the inside of his thigh as the music throbbed and the stripper spread 'em for the gang. He seemed to have a baseball bat in the pocket of his pants.
"Is this a rough area, Mr. Biggin? You seem to be carrying protection."
I swear Biggin blushed.
"I can't get protection to fit, Mizz Bazookas. That's my, um, erm…"
The topless waitress began to laugh and I withdrew my hand and crossed my legs. It rather looked as if I'd bitten off more than I could chew…
I rose for breath and swallowed a good dollop of honey. Delicious. And so was the honey. And the honey. I remembered her name now – Elvira. I took another lick then staggered to my feet to make room for the next licker.
The girl with the money tub kindly assisted me back to the bar and the bottle of rum. I patted her bottom with a sticky hand and she giggled.
"Thank you, my dear. Just swivel me round a little so I can maintain observation on the delectable Elvira."
She giggled again.
"She no Elvira – I Elvira! You no remem'er? Oh Mistuh Neptoon! Yo' no remem'er?"
If I had been on the rum last time we met it was no wonder I didn't remember. I looked closely at Elvira then at the girl on the stage now being attended to by two matelots, one of them the muscle shirt. I looked back at Elvira and took a healthy slug of rum. When I could speak again I engaged a careful brain cell.
"Now, my dear, I shall be very diplomatic here. I can't think of any other way to say it though – I really can't tell you apart!"
Elvira threw back her head and laughed.
"That 'cos we twins! Twins! Like as peas in a pod! She Alvira, I Elvira!"
A memory came back to me of an octopus-like engagement in the back room of the Watering Hole a year or two before. I seem to recall being blindfolded and made to guess whose anatomy was pressed on or around me at any given moment. I took a great many guesses, and I have to confess I sometimes made a deliberate mistake to prolong the inquisition.
I put an arm round Elvira and planted a kiss on her full lips.
"Now I remember! Let's see, when we left off you were just about to…"
"Service!"
A familiar voice cut across the music and cheers appreciative of Alvira and her entourage. I twisted round and peered into the murk. Elvira caught me just before I twisted a twist too far and landed on the floor.
My wife waved an arm in the "bring me a drink" gesture known by barmen the world over.
I looked guiltily at my watch and managed to make out the orientation and identity of the hands. Should I have been at the Lobster Pot by now? No, I had another ten minutes to make it. Why then had my newly betrothed tracked me down to this spot?
I saw her companion and had an inkling. Perhaps I was not in trouble after all.
He was large and black, in a gleaming white uniform. Very large and very black. For some reason though Miss Lawrence was keeping her hands to herself and had wrapped her legs in a reef knot.
"Who's the big feller?" I asked Elvira from the level of her breasts.
"That Leroy Biggin! He from Barbuda! They all big there! I meet him there when I work in Princess Di hotel!"
The inkling became a bigger inkling.
"A descriptive name, may I hazard a guess?"
Elvira giggled again.
"Ver' descriptive! He a big Biggin!"
The inkling became a certainty.
"Who dat wit' him? You know she?"
"But of course, my dear. Come and meet my wife."
Elvira looked at me disbelievingly as I collared the rum bottle and steered a course for the Lawrence and Biggin table. By the time I got there Miss Lawrence was sipping a rum punch and Biggin was halfway down a Red Stripe.
I heard Miss Lawrence speak, with a slight catch in her voice.
"Is it true your people are – blessed – in proportion to your height?"
Biggin laughed and showed pearly white teeth.
"No ma'am, that ain't true. Why, if it were I would be ten feet tall!"
Miss Lawrence paled. Elvira sighed nostalgically beside me.
I fell into a chair at the table.
"Mrs. Neptune, meet Elvira. Elvira, meet my beloved wife Jay."
Elvira held out a hand and Jay shook it.
"Pleased to meet you," they said simultaneously.
Jay looked at me welcomingly.
I waved the rum bottle at the young lad. He took a slug without turning a hair.
"Well?" I said. "Still time before we meet at the Lobster Pot. Are you going to have your bit of fun, then?"
"Er, Gigi will be waiting for us, and, er, I'm getting hungry, and, er, we don't want to keep Gigi waiting, and, er…" Jay started to push her chair back.
I watched, puzzled, then caught sight of Elvira's hand massaging Biggin's muscular thigh. I looked again. It wasn't his thigh. There was something sharing trouser space with his thigh, and winning the battle for occupancy. All became clear, and so did my mission.
"Now hold on," I cried cheerily. "The Black Widow can wait for a bit and knock back a margarita or twain. The back room's the place. Come on Elvira – lend a hand."
Elvira and I took Miss Lawrence by her elbows and hustled her past the stage and the squirming Alvira with her sailors, through a beaded curtain, and into Eldine's spartan but clean and tidy back room. Biggin followed, with a slight limp.
"Harry…!" Jay looked wildly around her for escape.
"You goin' enjoy this!" Elvira rolled her eyes and smacked her lips. She lifted Jay's brightly patterned skirt, swiftly revealing that the wanton little hussy had ventured forth sans panties.
"Bes' doggy style – max'mum input!" Elvira skillfully wrestled Jay to her knees, then slid under her with her arms around her waist. She gave Jay a kiss on the lips.
"This goin' be good, baby! I look af'er you!"
"Harry…!"
"Look on this as your introduction to the Caribbean, my love. Nothing like starting with a bang!"
I took a pull at the rum. It was going down much easier now. I had lost all sensation in my upper digestive tract.
Biggin stood behind Miss Lawrence, an odd aura of uncertainty hovering about his super-sized form. Hesitantly, he unzipped his white ducks and almost apologetically extracted a medium-sized mahogany tree. Elvira licked her plump dark lips and began to knead Jay's trembling buttocks with practiced hands.
I gulped.
Now the Neptune weapon is not to be sneered it. It holds its own in most company. I may modestly claim never to have had a complaint. But this behemoth – well, there are occasions when there is nothing to do but raise the white flag and admit defeat.
I grasped Jay's hair, lifted her head, and poured Vincentian rum into her open mouth as Biggin sank to his knees behind her.
White heat flooded my throat as I swallowed the potent liquor, feeling it inflame its way down to my stomach. The stuff could make you go blind yet I had a strange suspicion I could get to like it. I have a fondness for chili pepper. However, I was in a tight spot and had to think quickly. Crying "Rape!" would get me nowhere in the back room of a strip joint by the docks, and knowing my dearly beloved, would only incite Harry Neptune to greater heights of depravity. Elvira felt warm and silky between my thighs and her long nimble fingers were eliciting some deeply pleasurable sensations, massaging my bottom and spreading me wide for the young lad's monster tool. I could handle Elvira but Biggin's equine cock would have to wait 'til I asked the Lush for some pussy stretching tips. In a sudden flash of brilliance, a fiendish plan emerged. The vast, swollen head of Biggin's knob pressed lightly on my vulva and I let out a piercing squeal.
"Lube, darling! We must have lots of lube! This heat is drying me up and we might get stuck!"
Biggin gulped loudly. I wondered just how many times he'd actually managed to get the monster up. A really huge cock is less than a blessing, unless you take your prize-winning prong into the realm of XXX. I continued, having formed a small breach in the opposition's psyche.
"Lube me up, honey. Just think how good it's going to feel."
"Mmm, oh yeah, baby girl. I get yo' all wet n' willin'."
Elvira moaned softly and reached out one arm to rummage on a nearby shelf, upon which, I had noted, there was an economy-sized bottle of triple-strength SupaLoob. Harry's hand had lost its prior tight grip on my hair and, seizing the moment, I shot out from my trio of captors like a frenzied sprinter leaving the starting block. There was nowhere to go but on stage. I threw myself through the curtain of beads and came to a skidding halt beside the writhing Alvira.
"Oi! Come back here, bint! Call yourself a proper wife?"
I looked over my shoulder. Harry was more than a little inebriated. He leaned heavily against the door frame, artfully draped in the strings of multi-colored beads. The bottle of rum dangled limply from one hand.
"Come back here and let the lad fuck you, you disobedient trollop!"
Two dark hands slipped around his waist and slowly began to unzip his trousers. Seemed like we had the makings of a sex show that would rival anything in Amsterdam or Hamburg. Ignoring my husband completely, I squatted down beside Alvira's squirming ebony form. She had a strange, distant look in her black eyes, a look I associate with either drug use or extreme forms of sexual submission. Yet she looked like the kind of woman you'd be a fool to mess around. Slowly, I pressed my lips against her open, gasping mouth in an upside-down kiss. Her long, lean arms reached up to capture my head and draw me down.
"Woo! Yeah! Lesbian sex!"
The crowd of sailors went wild. Men love to watch women getting it on. I just couldn't resist. I cast one last glance behind me and saw Elvira kneeling between Harry's legs. He held her head and ground her face against his crotch in an aggressive rhythm that would soon bring the girl a creamy mouthwash.
"It's so hot in here."
I whispered in Alvira's ear, tracing the contours of her breasts with my hands. The boys gave out another raucous cheer. Suddenly, something strange happened. The room began to fade, the stage to sway. There was a vise-like grip on the back of my neck. The rum had kicked in.
"Take yo' dress off, honey!"
"Yes, I'm so hot, so hot…"
My flimsy sun dress was half-unbuttoned, as it was. There was a sailor lodged between Alvira's glistening thighs and I grasped his feasting head between the palms of my hands.
"Undress me."
He looked up, surprised. Then a broad grin split his dusky face. He was black too. There was still time to achieve what I set out to do. Roughly, I pulled him to his feet and pressed my hands against the bulge in the front of his pristine white pants. He was big but not Biggin-style big. I would live to tell the tale of this encounter. I let him undo the last few buttons of my dress, guiding his slightly fumbling hands. Then I slipped the garment over my shoulders and let it slide to the floor in a heap. The crowd roared in appreciation.
Oh, yes, yes, now I remember!
Naked on stage, I recalled the potent power of exhibitionism, the divinely delicious high of full exposure. Titty Boomboom was making a comeback! I walked arrogantly about the narrow platform, sometimes squatting down to show the guys my rapidly moistening pussy, never letting them get close enough to dip their tongues in the dripping juice. I lay on my back and spread my legs as wide as I could while massaging my breasts. I crawled on all fours and growled like a tiger. Finally, when I'd exhausted my old repertoire, I clambered on top of the grinning Alvira and raised my ass towards the big black sailor.
"Fuck me!"
Now I was facing the door to the storeroom. Biggin had emerged and was slowly stroking a well-lubed tree-trunk as he watched my husband fuck Elvira from behind. The girl was pressed up hard against the door frame, her big black tits squashed beneath the weight of a wildly rogering Harry Neptune. Her mouth was open, her eyes rolled back in her head as he pulled hard on her waist-length braids.
"Oh, god!"
I kissed Alvira hard, felt her hot, sticky breasts full and satiny beneath my own large, soft tits. I straddled her hips and ground my soaking cunt against her voracious cleft. She was hot, she was wet, I was hot, I was wet… I kissed her again and again, feeling the sailor's hands upon my wriggling hips. I raised my bottom to meet his searching, thrusting cock.
"Oh, Jesus! Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
A solid rod pierced my pussy, drove hard and fast into my cunt. I fucked them both, meeting the sailor's thrusts at each womb-deep stroke, dry-humping the stripper who pushed her tongue into my mouth and the tip of one long-nailed finger inside my anus. I came noisily, with thoughts of my husband fucking my ass…
Matters got a little hazy around this point. I have a fairly good head for liquor, but that St Vincent rum must have been off. Through my blurred vision I spotted the bottle rolling away toward the dance floor, not wasting a drop because it was patently empty. All right, maybe I had overdone it a teensy weensy bit.
"YEEEEESSSS!!!" came a cry from in front of me. I returned my attention to the job in hand – or rather the cock in cunt – and matched my rhythm to Elvira's pumping buttocks.
"OH YEEEEEEESSSS!!!" This time it was me as I pumped Neptunian life fluid deep into Elvira's pussy and dug my fingers into her thighs.
"OH YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!" Elvira was not be outdone. She came with a howl that would have guided ocean liners through fog then uncoupled and twisted round to take the last of my offering deep in her mouth.
"Oh yes…" I leaned against the door jamb to catch my breath.
On the dance floor Miss Lawrence was reaching the same point of no return with the help of the athletic sailor pounding in and out at hundred-yard dash pace. From the contortions Alvira was going through, I guessed that she had a finger in the Lawrence ass, guaranteed to send her over the edge. I hardened again at the thought of spread-eagling my wife on a queen size bed and parting her tight buttocks…
Elvira sucked ferociously as she sensed her mouthful growing, but it was not to be. Harry needs a little rest between encounters. I pulled her up by her hair and kissed her sweet-tasting mouth.
"Look at 'em go! T'ree way ear'tquake any second' now!" opined Elvira as she caught sight of the frenetic action on the stage.
Sure enough, Alvira's spare hand was between her legs and the sound effects, vibration and general enthusiasm indicated the end was nigh.
"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssssss!!!"
"Ooooooooooooooogggggghhhhhhhh!!!"
"Wubbbawubbbawubbba!!!"
I leave it to the gentle reader to sort out which exclamation belonged to which of the climaxing trio. As the grunts and groans fell below the level of the pounding boom box the trio fell apart. My wife crawled across the floor toward me.
"Harry! Take me home!"
"Not without your frock, my dear. And anyway, we have Mrs. Goldmine to rescue from the clutches of Margaritas in the Lobster Pot."
Alvira was still reconstructing her sense of reality, but Elvira rescued Jay's summer frock and buttoned her into it. I managed my buttons all on my own.
Jay leaned heavily on me then stiffened.
"Oh, that poor boy! All dressed up and nowhere to go!"
I turned and saw the bashful Biggin lurking in the shadows, still holding his monster dong and dripping lubricant.
A hopeful look started to appear on Biggin's face and Jay hurriedly hid behind me.
"Oh no! We've got to go!"
As Jay dragged me out into the fresh air the last thing I saw was Elvira and Alvira each with two hands around Biggin's shaft with plenty of room to spare.
"Phew!"
Jay looked as though she had had a lucky escape, and she could well have been right. I know babies' heads get out of that place, but with a certain amount of screaming and yelling on the part of the passage owner, so I imagine something the same size going the other way would similarly turn ecstasy to agony. Were I a shirt-lifter I would definitely be a stabber not a bender.
"Taxi!"
The familiar Caribbean imprecation led us to a typical Caribbean taxi. Take the word "decrepit," add the two words "beaten up," and round them off with "disreputable." Like I said, a typical Caribbean taxi.
"The Lobster Pot, my friend, at a sedate pace and without killing too many civilians."
"Yes, boss!"
We set off at mach two.
The landscape became a blur as we careened out of dockland and back into the commercial district. Jay had a firm grip on the seat with one hand and me with the other. She stared ahead with wide eyes and white face as pedestrians, other vehicles, livestock and occasional lampposts magically evaded our headlong rush.
Like I said, a typical Caribbean taxi. I crossed my legs and relaxed. This was Miss Lawrence's first visit to the West Indies, after all. Not even Boston is adequate preparation.
"I say!"
I twisted in my seat and stuck my head out of the window to look back the way we had come. I pulled my head back in.
"It's them! Coming out of a bank! What are they doing there? A bit out of the way to be cashing traveler's checks!"
"What? Who?" Miss Lawrence kept her eyes fixed ahead but managed a contribution to the conversation.
"Dunnett and Swat, that's who. Coming out of the Greater Antilles National Bank. Sniggering."
"Sniggering?"
"Yes, sniggering. Arm in arm. What the hell are they up to?"
"Robbery. Rehearsing a pantomime. Smoking ganja. Who the hell cares!"
Jay looked as though the rum might repeat itself on her as we negotiated a roundabout the wrong way and won a battle of wills with a lorry load of cement.
"We care, that's who! Detectives, remember? We are sworn to discover who put poor Raoul in a body bag, and the way to do that is to track down mysteries. Here is a mystery. Let us track."
It seemed simple enough to me, but from the word Miss Lawrence used, it was apparent she had other priorities. Never mind, she would feel more like it when her feet were on terra firma again. I patted her hand and got another rude word in reward.
"Da Lobster Pot!"
Our driver seemed very pleased with himself to not only have found our declared destination but also to have delivered us alive. So he should be.
I paid in U.S. dollars with a moderately generous tip – we were after all indubitably alive – and handed my wife down onto the road. Sidewalks are a luxury largely unknown in this part of the old town of Sint Maarten.
Mrs. Neptune took a deep breath, forwent kissing the ground in gratitude, and rapidly resumed her normal demeanor. It would take more than a first Caribbean taxi ride to faze her for very long. She would be ready for the next one.
We stepped over the storm drain and into a shady, comfortably furnished restaurant and bar. A ceiling fan wafted cooling air. A couple of tall cold cocktails were called for.
"Coo-ee!!"